A friend of mine wrote to me with the questions of life: What is my purpose? Why am I here?
She had been taught all her life that she was a mistake, unwanted by the universe—or rather, that the universe was apathetic to her accidental existence. This of course was a terrible lie, but repetition ingrained it in her so deeply that when she left her loving home her life fell to pieces.
Informing her of the simple facts was useless. I shouldn't have bothered—facts are of little use to belief. I also find it interesting that beliefs will often warp facts into support. The features on this little blue planet can easily be explained by a few observant scientists and an ancient text—though the book does a much better job, always has. Truth has inherent value, but she didn't need facts, figures, or debate.
She was a very good person—better than most anyway, but she couldn't fill that empty feeling at the end of the day with goodness. I tried to give her what she needed so often that she stopped listening. She knew what she wanted, and it didn't come in the packaging I offered—there were too many strings. The only strings I found was that of commitment and love, which are voluntary anyway.
She said that Jesus was a good teacher, but she missed the point entirely. He said, “I am the way” not “this is the way.” He said, “I and the Father are one.” No good teacher would claim to be God, unless he was, but she had heard all those old arguments before. Perhaps it hadn't occurred to her that arguments may get old for a reason. Jesus' main purpose on earth was to save us from ourselves because He loves us. How could I have made that point without quoting Him or the wise men who wrote about Him?
It was as if she wanted the goodness of the Savior without the Savior Himself. The only conclusion I could come to was that she didn't want to be held accountable—couldn't be held accountable—for her life. If we admit He exists and that He is who He is, we must submit to Him, and our own desire for control—dare I say fear—will do all it can to deny such a God.
After all of that, the only thing I could do was to give her that ancient book and plead with her to read it again and understand. While she read, I spoke with Him. I asked him if I had been so obstinate in the face of such pure truth. He chuckled. And nodded.
